


Don't Make Me Order You

by Mybrolly



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Breathplay, Domination, M/M, Masturbation, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Submission, Voyeurism, fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mybrolly/pseuds/Mybrolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was wrong, Mycroft was not only his brother but a rather large thorn in his side most of the time, Sherlock refused to have these sordid fantasies about that oaf of a man. Lust turned to loathing and that fueled their relationship for many years, until today, until those words. “Don’t make me order you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Make Me Order You

“Don’t make me order you.” Did his brother even know what he’d done when he said such simple words? A deep fantasy reawakened in one simple sentence. “Don’t make me order you.” The way the words had rolled off his tongue, those arched eyebrows and piercing stare. “Don’t make me order you.” If only he had, and not the case, anything, Sherlock would do anything his brother ordered if he spoke in that devilishly delicious tone. John had been there too, could he sense it, sense what those simple words had done to him and that his deep dark fantasy came back to the light. 

Sherlock lay on his bed playing the thoughts over in his head, the words filling his ears. He’d longed for Mycroft to dominate him, order him, scold him and control him. It was a fantasy from his childhood that formed when a frustrated Mycroft took him over his knee and spanked his bottom until he cried. That was the first night he’d masturbated to the thought of Mycroft. He’d tried many times to get the same reaction again but it never came, just that powerful voice telling him off but it proved enough to fuel many fantasies. 

It was wrong, Mycroft was not only his brother but a rather large thorn in his side most of the time, Sherlock refused to have these sordid fantasies about that oaf of a man. Lust turned to loathing and that fueled their relationship for many years, until today, until those words. “Don’t make me order you.” Sherlock had tried to keep his face schooled but there was the lingering doubt that Mycroft may have seen that slight crack, the little chip in his façade that begged for his elder sibling to order him, demean and dominate him. He hadn’t reacted, oh no, that wouldn’t be very Mycroft but he would store the information away in order to use at a better time. Sherlock both dreaded and craved that moment. 

“Don’t make me order you.” Each time Sherlock thought about it his erection throbbed, eventually he had to touch himself or it would’ve ended up rather painful. His cock was leaking pre-ejaculate and begging to be stroked, all the detective could do was oblige. Slowly at first he ran his hand over the length, teasing the head of his prick and using the fluid to slick the shaft. Mycroft. His mind flooded with images so familiar he could have convinced himself they actually happened in their youth. Bent over Mycroft’s large bed, bare arse screaming red as his brother gave him another whack with the riding crop and told him he must behave and follow orders. Kneeling, blindfolded and hands tied as his brother forced his cock down the younger’s throat, causing him to gag and choke, ripping the blindfold off in order to see the tears that filled his submissive eyes. Tied by each limb to the four poster bed as Mycroft slicked his cock and rammed into him with no preparation, the pain as punishment for some heinous act he’d committed. Screaming his name, muffled by pillows or a gag as he thrust harder with each movement, grazing Sherlock’s prostate in order to drive him to distraction. Both of those beautiful, soft hands wrapped around his throat, choking him as Mycroft drove him to orgasm. Crying out for mercy as his brother milked him over and over again. 

Sherlock’s cock throbbed at each thought and he writhed in the bed wishing to be filled, wishing he were being forced to ride his brother’s thick cock, being called a slut or whore as his abused hole took another pounding from the elder. Moans escaped Sherlock’s lips and he thanked each deity that he was home alone, especially when Mycroft’s name leaked out from his clenched teeth. He needed more, needed Mycroft. Taking his fingers to his mouth, Sherlock slicked them with his saliva, sucking on them as if they were Mycroft’s prick in his mouth, moving them down to tease his wanton asshole and pushing one in past the ring of muscle, needing more he quickly added the second. 

Stroking himself and thrusting his fingers, moaning Mycroft’s name, the images filling his head, it was all too much and soon Sherlock felt the thrilling heat of an orgasm build in the base of his stomach. Just as his mind had focused on the memory of Mycroft’s hand on his aching backside, Sherlock came with a load moan, sticky fluid covering his hand as his entire body went limp. He removed his fingers and brought the come covered hand to his lips, tasting himself as he heard those words again, “Don’t make me order you.” 

A post-orgasmic Sherlock relaxed on his bed, eyelids getting heavy and the desire to sleep filling him when his phone beeped.

**Quite the show, brother. I knew having that camera in your bedroom would come in rather handy. –Mycroft Holmes ******

**Author's Note:**

> Well....I tried.


End file.
